


the tension and the spark

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, No Angst, POV Bucky Barnes, Stucky - Freeform, because he's figuring things out you see, like pulling him from the river - the double dates etc, steve confronting bucky over all the small things he did for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: "You made me move you in after my ma died."What's he getting at? Are they playing 50 Facts About Two Very Old Men or something?"Someone had to make sure you didn't kill over in your sleep."Excuses. His memory may still be shot fifty ways to Sunday but there are a lot of memories involving the two of them that refused to cooperate with Hydra's endless mind wipes. He'd moved in with Steve because he was terrified of losing him and Sarah's death had been a grim reminder of how fragile Steve's health really was. As for living together now? He's got no excuse for that. Steve had insisted and he'd balked at first to give the impression that it wasn't that big of a deal but after a measly five minutes, he'd unearthed three backpacks that held his belongings.Steve continues. "The only job I had that you didn't complain about was when I delivered papers.""It worked out around my schedule."Lies. If anything it made life harder as Bucky had to work doubles just so he wouldn't be moping around at home, worrying.





	

"I've been thinking."  
  
It's never a good thing when those words come out of Steve's mouth. They're usually followed by a long winded straight laced factual speech, most of which Bucky misses. He's only human and two minutes is the maximum time his brain can safely allot before it tunes out every word. It's seven fifteen in the morning which means it feels like it's five and it's too bad that he's immune to even the strongest of coffees because he only managed to catch four hours of sleep last night. He'd dreamed if you could call it that, nightmares never fit right as there were some parts he'd like to bring to life. Steve's speeches were not one of them but his mouth was center stage.  
  
Bucky drags his spoon through a bowl of soggy Cornflakes and contemplates giving Steve the silent treatment. If he thinks he's wronged Bucky he'll hole away to lick his wounds for at least an hour or so but Bucky isn't a monster and this is Steve.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
A coffee cup comes to rest in front of his bowl and at the space across from him as Steve takes a seat. The crease between his eyebrows is all Bucky needs to know: he has been overthinking things again.  
  
"You saved me," Steve states.  
  
They've had this conversation thousands of times and Bucky's no saint. It wasn't a selfless gesture - he wanted Steve to live. It was perhaps the most selfish thing he'd chosen to do but regrets are something he doesn't deal in when it comes to Steve.  
  
"Yes."

 

Steve crosses his arms and they strain against his blue- wait. Bucky's blue t-shirt. He hadn't even asked to borrow it, not that they don't share everything from soap to socks. Either way he doesn't mind too much, provided Steve takes it to the hamper rather than losing it for weeks. Hell he would've fallen all over himself to see Steve wearing his clothes before the government decided to beef him up. There's something about the gesture that makes Bucky want to make his mark on that flawless skin. It's seven a.m. and he's already undressing Steve with his eyes; hopeless.

"You made me move you in after my ma died."  
  
What's he getting at? Are they playing 50 Facts About Two Very Old Men or something?  
  
"Someone had to make sure you didn't kill over in your sleep."  
  
Excuses. His memory may still be shot fifty ways to Sunday but there are a lot of memories involving the two of them that refused to cooperate with Hydra's endless mind wipes. He'd moved in with Steve because he was terrified of losing him and Sarah's death had been a grim reminder of how fragile Steve's health really was. As for living together now? He's got no excuse for that. Steve had insisted and he'd balked at first to give the impression that it wasn't that big of a deal but after a measly five minutes, he'd unearthed three backpacks that held his belongings.

  
  
Steve continues. "The only job I had that you didn't complain about was when I delivered papers."

That's because it meant Steve wouldn't be stuck in a poorly ventilated factory that was more like a death sentence than employment. Sure, he'd gotten caught in a downpour a few times and it had knocked him off his feet but it was a slow paced job which meant he wouldn't have to rush around that much. Up until that point they'd had a ritual: Steve would circle potential job openings in the newspaper and Bucky would rant about why they were a bad idea.

The next day when Steve would apply and get shot down, Bucky wouldn't taunt him about it. Instead he'd point to a receptionist ad or an opening for a stockboy at the local bakery. If loading stacks of freshly baked bread and pastries three days a week meant keeping Steve from having an asthma attack or ending up in the hospital it was worth it.  
  
"It worked out around my schedule."  
  
Lies. If anything it made life harder as Bucky had to work doubles just so he wouldn't be moping around at home, worrying.

Steve takes a sip of coffee then leans his elbows on the table. "You got mad at girls who got stuck with me on double dates. You said-"  
  
Crystal clear memory. "-they wouldn't know a good thing if it bit them on the nose," Bucky finishes. Not a one of them deserved Steve Rogers. If they'd made it home after the war, those same girls would've been lined up and down the block in hopes of scoring a date with him. Hypocrites.  
  
Truth be told, the only reason Bucky had dragged Steve out on double dates was to erase his own guilt over thoughts dirty enough to have made a priest blush. He'd known they wouldn't end well and a deep dark part of him took sick pleasure in knowing the girls were never a threat. But, for Steve's sake he'd tried anyway.  
  
Steve considers this and nods once more. He's up to something, Bucky can tell.

  
  
"The longest relationship you ever had was three weeks and it wouldn't have been that long if it wasn't for me pushing you," Steve states.  
  
Her name was Cecile and she really was the sweetest - too nice in fact. Bucky craved bite and snark, he wanted grit and a smile that rivaled the blue's and evergreens of early Spring. He was twenty one and showing no signs of settling. His _your best pal who loves the ladies_ mask was quickly wearing thin and Steve was beginning to suspect something was up. As such, he'd taken Cecile dancing no less than six times, had followed her to a secluded area where he got to be very familiar with the shape of her body (but not too far, never all the way). He'd kissed her in front of Steve as much as possible and made damn sure he was looking. When he couldn't take it anymore he'd gently broke it off, citing commitment issues though they'd only just begun their relationship. He'd meant it when he told her she deserved a guy who'd buy her a ring and give her his name. That wasn't him.  
  
"She wanted marriage," he lied. They'd never made it that far.

Steve intertwines his hands and stares pointedly at a half empty fruit basket in the middle of the table. Pepper had sent it in thanks last week after Bucky had taken three pounds of strawberries off her hands. A well meaning friend had given them to her, having completely forgotten about her issue with them. Allergies, she'd reminded Bucky as he informed her that they were Steve's favorite.  
  
"We shared a bed...and money," Steve counters.  
  
They had, more often than was necessary. Bucky had taken every opportunity to find his way into Steve's small creaking bed back then. Coughing? _I can hear you better if you're right beside of me, can't tell if its gotten worse from over there_. Cold weather? _Body heat, Steve_. Nightmare? _It's a proven fact that bed sharing leads to less sleep issues._ Steve was mad at him? You can't be angry at someone you gotta sleep with. Bucky just returned from leave? _My bed is too stiff, reminds me of sleeping on the ground. You wouldn't deny a poor tired soldier now would you?_    Desperation drove him to madness. As for the money? He knew Steve hated the idea of barely contributing to the bills and resented having to accept help so Bucky had insisted they split his paychecks.  
  
"It made more sense that way, saved time and money."  
  
Such a terrible liar.

  
  
Steve plucks a juicy apple from the basket and rolls it around in his palms. "You took me to Coney after Deborah Bainberry said I was a waste of her time; that I didn't fit how you described me at all. We couldn't afford it. You made me ride The Cyclone with you."  
  
He'd sacrificed the money meant for a much needed pair of new work boots on Steve. He'd taken one look at those sad blue eyes and scooped up every dime. Why that ride? Because it made for a damn fine distraction and as an added bonus he could hold Steve's hand on the safety bar without it seeming off.  
  
"It was new and you were moping."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "You bought us a new radio when ours broke. You said it was because you didn't like the quiet but I know you didn't hate it that much 'cause you couldn't even sleep with a fan on. We couldn't afford that radio. I'd told you I didn't want to miss next weeks Fibber McGee and Molly and you came home with it two days later, still in the box."  
  
He had Bucky there, guilty as sin but he wasn't about to admit it.  
  
"It was on sale."  
  
Steve shakes his head. He's not buying a word of it, it's obvious.  
  
"What's the point of this? It's too early for fifty questions, Steve."  
  
Steve barrels on, ignoring the comment. "You took me to the boxing ring even though you knew the army wouldn't accept me. You trained me for six weeks."  
  
He had. Steve had a less than 1% chance of getting that 1A but he was stubborn enough to run himself into the ground for it. If Bucky hadn't volunteered to train him he would've found someone who would've pushed him too hard. And yeah, Bucky was no angel. He'd tossed rocks in a backpack and made Steve run while wearing it but he also knew how much Steve could handle before it went too far. He'd taught him how to wrap his hands before boxing, how to properly throw a punch, which section to aim for when you've been knocked down, how to feasibly do pushup's without fainting.  
  
"I knew it'd come in handy next time you found yourself in another alley fight."

 

"What about Peggy, hmm?"  
  
That's...that's not a topic Bucky cares to revisit. It conjures up feelings of inadequacy, jealousy, heartbreak at wanting what he cannot have. He aggressively stirs a spoon in his coffee.  
  
"What about her?"  
  
Steve blinks.  
  
Surely he didn't think the mention of that memory would end well. None the less, he continues.  
  
"When we got back to base after I found you...we had a moment. Peggy and me, I mean. You interrupted."  
  
That's a memory Bucky wishes would've stayed gone. He'd been bone tired and feeling more possessive and protective over Steve than he had a right to. Agent Carter had walked up and suddenly he became part of a backdrop, a ghost. It made him itchy and hot, made his voice carry and hands curl into fists at his side. Captain America had saved everyone's ass, why wouldn't his best pal want to celebrate that? Only, that too had an ulterior motive. It was his way of saying _Back off, I was here first._  
  
"You saved lives, including mine. You deserved recognition."  
  
Steve inhales sharply and crosses his arms across his chest once more, impatient.

 

"That night at the bar...you said you liked the Cap suit. You talked about how I used to be like you missed that scrawny guy. You looked at me like...like I was something special...and then Peggy came in. You closed up after that."  
  
Alcohol and exhaustion had made Bucky loose that night. He was going to say it, to confess everything. The words were on the tip of his tongue and then she walked in. With one sexy red dress and heels she'd dashed any hope of him taking Steve back or loving him in a way that he'd always dreamed of. God, if anyone had seen him gazing at Steve like that back then they'd easily recognize how far gone he was. And, from the way Steve's head bent closer and his lips parted, he wanted it too. The memory of that night seeps back into Bucky's head and he's sitting in a dusty bar with his heart in his hands again. It hurts.  
  
As such, he derails the revealing accusation with humor. "To be fair, I'd never seen you in tights before. And I was drunk, pal."  
  
Steve rolls his eyes. The clock continues to tick, tick, tick.  
  
"You died, Buck. You threw yourself in front of me and you..."  
  
Fuck. That wound is still bleeding on both ends.  
  
"Yeah. I did."  He'd died of love and what a noble cause it was.  
  
Unfortunately for Steve, he hadn't stayed down. And according to archived newspapers, the punk had followed him shortly thereafter. Why would he do that?

 

Steve scoots his chair closer and Bucky resists the urge to flee. It's too early for this, he's not prepared. Give him about seventy more years and he'll get there. He'll lay it out for Steve to see then.  
  
"And you saved me over and over when it wasn't me the U.N. and government was after. You lost your arm because you were angry at Tony for hurting me, for hurting you. You said you didn't think you were worth it but you're wrong, Buck. You watched Sharon and I kiss - you...that wasn't your real smile. You left me, Bucky. You _left_."  
  
Ah shit.  
  
Bucky's first and final mission has forever been: protect Steve Rogers. From the very minute they met to the last goodbye before cryo he'd promised himself to stick to it no matter what, even if it hurt. Going back under was not only necessary for recovery but also for Steve to move on rather than remaining stuck in a constant cycle of guilt and grief. As for Sharon? In that moment it was 1943 and he was watching a beautiful Carter take away the only good part of his life again. He'd longed for the blessed numbness of ice and the absence of a pain that spanned decades. Oh how he'd hated the Carters.  
  
And then he'd woke some four years into the future to find Steve waiting on the other side, alone. No explanation was given nor requested.  
  
"I was tired."  
  
Steve slumps in his chair as if the weight of over seventy years of ice has suddenly dropped on his shoulders. Broad though they may be, they cannot hold this. Instead of reaching out like he wants to, Bucky pours sugar into his coffee and continues long after it has likely turned to syrup. If he appears busy he won't have to speak.  
  
After realizing what he's doing, Steve sits up straight and puts on a face that Bucky affectionately calls _Brooklyn, Baby_. It means he's going to get what he came here for.

  
  
The clock strikes eight a.m. and Bucky rubs his eyes. If he were to go back to bed he could forget this conversation ever happened. And yet, a part of him wants to see where Steve is going with this. He takes a sip of his coffee and cringes. It's like drinking condensed milk.  
  
"You're in love with me," Steve says.  
  
WHAT WAS _THAT_

Bucky sputters and chokes. Lukewarm coffee dribbles down his chin as he gracelessly coughs and swipes at it. After he has regained his composure he takes the cup to the sink and pretends not to have heard those five words. He's aggressively rinsing it when Steve turns off the tap and places a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"It's okay, if you are."  
  
It's eight a.m., Bucky is wearing his coffee and Steve is being completely inconsiderate. You don't drop that on a man before he's at least three cups deep into strong coffee. It's about the taste, the texture, the warmth spreading through his body as it slowly wakes him. He pours a fresh cup without removing Steve's hand and slowly brings it to his lips.

Ahh, that hits the spot. Now where were they? That's right: Steve needing more coffee because he's talking nonsense again.  
  
"Coffee?," Bucky offers. He attempts to pass his own mug to Steve but gets nothing in response aside from a disgruntled frown. Having had enough of Bucky's evasiveness, Steve removes the cup from his hands and places it on the kitchen counter.  
  
Nuh-uh. He's asking for trouble if he thinks-  
  
Oh.  
  
_Oh._  
  
Steve's eyes.  
  
Bucky knows that look; practically patented that look, trademarked it, aimed it at every single girl in Brooklyn. Heat offsets icy blue eyes and Bucky forgets all about his drink.  
  
"You're in love with me," Steve repeats.  
  
When he puts it that way...  
  
"Yes."  
  
Steve blinks, shocked at having received an honest answer. "What?"  
  
"What?," Bucky echos.  
  
Nonononono this can't be happening. His heart got the best of him and he needs caffeine and now he has ruined everything-

 

A slow smile spreads across Steve's face and yeah, no. He's up to no good. "Just checking so I won't feel bad about doing _this_."  
  
He cautiously slides both hands on Bucky's cheeks and waits. Sometimes, when he's not expecting to be touched, Bucky flinches. It's an ingrained reaction and Steve has learned to approach him gently, to make any movement obvious. On the bad days Bucky pushes him away and stalks off. On the good days, they watch TV side by side despite having half a couch full of open space around them.  
  
"You...?" Bucky questions.  
  
Where's he going with that thought? You want me? You need coffee? You've lost your goddamn mind? None of those, no. Possibly the latter.  
  
"Can I?," Steve whispers.  
  
That's a good direction. Bucky nods. He'll follow Steve wherever he may go even if it's nearly too much to handle at such an ungodly hour. Foolishly, he half expects an actual kiss. Instead, he gets a peck on the cheek.  
  
"Is that it?," he blurts out. Over seventy years of waiting and _that's_ his gold star?  
  
  
Steve's face splits into a wide grin. He ghosts his lips over the tip of Bucky's nose, the corner of his lips and blessedly; full on the mouth. Passive is one thing Bucky is most certainly not. If Steve is offering then he's taking.

He slides both hands up Steve's sides and draws him in closer as he urges the kiss wider. Steve makes a small noise at that and presses a palm against the small of Bucky's back as an encouragement: Do what you want to me, touch wherever you feel like touching. Greedy is the word that comes to mind after seventy years of repeatedly losing Steve and he's not about to change now. Not when Steve is clinging to him like his very existence depends upon touching Bucky's skin.  
  
The clock ticks, minutes pass. For the first time, they kiss.  
  
"I like it when you're thinking." Bucky murmurs, confident, as he plants kisses along the pale column of Steve's neck.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Sure do."  
  
Steve tilts his head to the side to allow better access. "Hey Buck?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I love you."  
  
He...  
  
loves....  
  
Bucky freezes. "You don't have to say that, Steve."  
  
He's under no obligation to return the sentiment even if Bucky had failed at hiding the fact that he's over the moon for Steve. He'd rather have silence than a forced _I love you_. He wants to hear those three words and know that they're real. Love happens on its own time.  
  
"I know that."  
  
Bucky swallows. Where's the _but..._  
  
"I wanted to."  
  
That's...yeah.  
  
He pulls away in order to get a good honest look at Steve to gauge whether he's telling the truth or if it's wishful thinking. What he sees makes him rethink all the ways Steve looked at him before the government erased his scars, erased their history and replaced it with something new and shiny.  
  
"You _love_ me?"  
  
Steve catches his eye and it's like standing in front of him holding a key back when the world made sense. It's the softness in his eyes and pure unfiltered love that's plain to see. He'd misread it as Steve merely being grateful back then. He'd been such a fool.  
  
"Always have."  
  
Always...  
  
"Since when?"  
  
Steve slips an arm under the back of Bucky's shirt and presses a palm against his lower back. It's a comforting reminder that this is really happening. This is not a fevered dream.  
  
"Since forever? Since we first met after I stopped hating you for saving me from that bully?"  
  
"Like _that?_ "  
  
Jesus, he sounds like a nervous schoolboy asking his crush if he likes him, likes him or _likes_ him, _likes_ him.  
  
"Exactly like _that._ "  
  
He nods, processing this new beautiful information.  
  
"Show me."  
  
Steve brightens and pulls Bucky toward his bed. It's no longer small and creaky but it'll do.

**Author's Note:**

> apologies for any mistakes or crappy writing/crappy formatting. my internet keeps drifting in and out -_-
> 
> I love the idea of steve slowly putting together what bucky has done for him over the decades and finally figuring it out, god it took him long enough. thought bucky was going to die alone again, ahahah (too soon?)
> 
> title is from a song by darren hayes (formerly of savage garden) which is GREAT but um the lyrics don't fit this fic b/c they're basically just hot sex and no love but I love the song so


End file.
